


Someone to Come Home To

by reve_silencieux



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reve_silencieux/pseuds/reve_silencieux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's sentence has been commuted and he has plans to meet Sara in London for Christmas.  Only... the last case doesn't end well, and that never entered his plans.  Minor whump.  Written for whitecollarhc Hurt/Comfort Advent 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone to Come Home To

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from My December by Linkin Park. Written for whitecollarhc Hurt/Comfort Advent 2014. Prompt from embroiderama. This was my first 'fest' or prompt inspired challenge and I learned a lot from this experience. It is one thing to love a prompt and want to write it, and another to be inspired enough to write it on time. I also realized I have a hard time writing standalone fic because I tend to want to fill in lots of backstory. (hence the first scene which comes from my dead WIP folder) Credit for the basic h/c plot goes to sapphire2309, and I owe so much to her, because this fic... well, it was rushed in the end and she made it possible.
> 
> Prompt: Neal completes his sentence (or the rest of it is commuted) and he goes to meet Sara for Christmas in London. For one reason or another--a horribly bumpy flight, a long and miserable delay on the tarmac, having the flu or a minor injury, etc--Neal turns up at her doorstep not *quite* so shiny and happy as he had planned.

His thumb hovered over the call button for several seconds before he tossed the phone down on the kitchen table with a sigh. He glanced up and stared out into the early night. The sky was darkening. But it was never completely dark—the lights of the city were bright and they only ever faded away when morning came. It usually made him smile, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. But now, when he wanted to be left alone, it was suffocating. 

Picking up his wine glass, he drained it slowly and set it back down, closing his eyes.

He wanted answers. Freedom.

Absolution.

But that was never going to happen. It wasn’t possible. Not for a guy like him.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, picked up his cell phone and hit the green call button before he could change his mind.

It rang four times before she picked up.

“Neal?” she asked, surprised.

It felt like he’d been running for days, or maybe it was just the exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Hi Sara,” he replied softly.

He could feel the shift, her tone turning serious and concerned. Like Peter, she’d made it her job to know him, but now it was on a personal level. “Is everything okay? You never responded to my last email.”

It was a stark reminder, a painful one at that, that he’d lost one of the few people who he couldn’t con and who he simply could be himself with. She took no crap from him, but it wasn’t the same as his relationship with Peter. And it wasn’t just because of the sex. She knew who he was from the beginning, and _that_ mattered the most to him. He couldn’t con her. Oh sure, he’d tried, in an effort to get the FAA package, but she’d seen right through him.

And looking back, he wasn’t quite sure if it had been a con after all. He’d enjoyed their lunch, and without realizing that he’d meant it, he’d found himself trying to prove to her that she could trust him, could _like_ him.

Neal was a people person. It was part of his job—get people to like him, to trust him, to tell him whatever he wanted. But deep down, he truly wanted the people around him to like him. He could rationalize it by saying it was just a game, but he’d only be lying to himself.

He’d fallen for Kate, hard. But he was young and she was naïve, and a relationship shouldn’t start as a con. With Sara, they’d both fought their instincts and distrust. Neither of them saw it coming, and didn’t that say more about their relationship than everything else? It surprised both of them, and yet they didn’t stop it.

But they hadn’t been able to make it work, not until the end, when it was too late.

“Neal?” She asked again, and he blinked, shaking his head as he tried to stop the litany of thoughts racing through his head.

“Am I–” he stopped and drew in a breath, “Do you really think I’m a sociopath?”

He heard the sharp inhalation, and he held his breath. Sara was not one to mince words or sugarcoat something just to make someone feel good. She'd be honest with him, even if it hurt. Neal trusted her to do this. He _needed_ her to do this. No one else would—not Peter, not Mozzie. He had to hear the truth.

“Oh Neal...” she finally replied, her voice soft and hesitant. 

She sighed and he swallowed hard, squaring his shoulders back. He'd asked, hadn't he? Just because he might not like the answer, didn't mean he didn’t need to hear it. 

“You've done some things...” She paused, and he closed his eyes, readying himself to hear the words. “...that you know were wrong. And you're certainly proud of some of them. But you're a good guy, Neal. You care about people. Some people might look at what you've done and say you're a sociopath. I used to be one of them, but I know you _now_. The Neal Caffrey of old, the one who sat in court all smug and cocky, is not the same person I see today. So no, I don't think you're a sociopath.”

He felt himself deflate; all the air escaped his lungs as he slumped into the nearest chair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, relieved and happy and disappointed all at the same time. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that she was lying, but he ignored it.

He didn't want to be a sociopath, didn't want yet another label. He was tired of them. There was nothing to be done about the rest—couldn't deny them if he tried. Ex-con, liar, thief... 

“Now, if anyone asked me if you were a pain in the ass... well... I won't deny that,” she continued lightly, and despite the late hour, he could hear the smile in her voice.

He chuckled and shook his head. “But it’s a nice ass, right?”

She let out a laugh and he smiled wide. He missed her. But he wouldn't say as much. He'd let her go, and he wouldn't ruin her dreams. Not now.

“I don’t think I can answer that without inflating your ego even more.” Neal grinned. “I'm sure Peter would agree with me. You being a pain in the ass, that is. I’d rather not know what he thinks of your ass, thank you very much...”

Neal laughed out loud, feeling lighter than before, and leaned back, staring out into the night. They might be an ocean apart, but that didn't matter. Hearing her voice was all he needed. The reassurance that someone could see past the lies and the cons—could see him.

*~*~*~*

_Months later_

“Last time. You ready for this?” Peter asked, handing over the watch.

Neal slipped on the watch and gave him a bright smile. “Of course. Might as well end on a high note.”

Peter hesitated. “You know, this doesn’t have to be the end. You can still…” he trailed off as Neal shook his head. “Right, sorry.”

With a sad smile, Neal thought about how a couple years ago he would have gladly accepted an offer to stay and work with the FBI. Only now, he wanted to be far away from the agency. He’d miss Peter and the people there, but he couldn’t give the higher-ups what they wanted—an unlimited source of criminal intel and a patsy to do their bidding. He was done.

It had taken Peter three months to work out his commutation, and that was after fighting to keep him from prison to begin with. Neal just wanted a fresh start, and right now that meant distance and time to figure out his life.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Peter said, giving Neal his infamous glare. “Be careful in there. I don’t want to have to call Sara and tell her that you can’t come because you’re in the hospital.”

Neal winced. Sara may be forgiving, but it was best not to upset her to begin with.

He glanced at Peter and grinned. “No, you’d have Elizabeth tell her.” Heck, even he would do that if it were up to him.

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. It was the truth. Neal chuckled then checked his watch. Five minutes until his last sting, and after that, he was a free man. They’d already taken off his anklet with a bit of fanfare and pre-celebration at the office, but as of midnight it would be official.

“You still want to go, right?”

Neal back at Peter, confused. “What?”

Peter shrugged. “London. Sara. I just want to make sure you’re jumping to the right ship, that's all. I always liked the two of you together, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to cling to her because she’s there and you don’t want to be here.”

He blinked and slowly digested Peter’s words. It was certainly true that women were his weakness. His track record didn’t help. But Neal knew this time that he’d made the right choice. He’d gained… perspective in the time since Rebecca and his kidnapping. For one, he was done with the criminal life. It was better for his health and sanity, and quite frankly, he was tired. And for another, honesty was the key to a relationship. He’d learned that better than he would have liked over the past year.

But that wasn’t the only reason he was going back to Sara. He’d had plenty of time to reflect on his life while captive, and he’d come to realize that he had lost out on the one _real_ relationship he’d ever had. The one that had made him happy without him even knowing it or planning it.

“I don’t _need_ her to be happy, Peter. I can live on my own quite well. But company’s never a bad thing, wouldn’t you agree?” He paused and thought back to the time she’d lived with him. Even though it had been a spur of the moment offer, he had wanted to take that next step. “Is Sara the right person for me? Maybe—maybe not. But I won’t know until I try one more time.”

Cons aside, Rebecca had been good for one thing. She’d showed him what he really wanted. Rachel might have thought she created the perfect woman for him in Rebecca, but really, it was a combination of traits he'd loved and admired, each of which had been special in their own right. He didn't need a checklist to love someone.

“Okay, that's all I need to hear.” Peter smiled and Neal relaxed. It wasn't that he needed Peter's permission, certainly not on who to date, but maybe he did need a little reassurance that he was doing the right thing. “El’s cooking up a small storm for your going away dinner, a pre-Christmas feast, and I certainly don’t want to be the one to delay it.” 

Neal picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder then grinned back at Peter. “Let’s not keep her waiting.” He stepped out of the utility van, carefully checking his surroundings, then glanced back at the van.

It wasn’t like he was going to _miss_ the van, but it was hard to walk away knowing this was the last time. A chapter of his life was almost over.

Yeah, okay, maybe he was going to miss it, cramped space, musty smell and all, he thought smiling to himself.

He strolled casually to his meeting point, a warehouse around the block. “Hey there, Charlie,” he said as he entered the abandoned warehouse.

Charlie shifted nervously, and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Hey Nick.”

Neal slowed down to a stop and eyed him carefully. It could simply be nerves or something else he didn’t want to contemplate. Charlie was still a kid in many ways, young and easily bullied. Neal had gotten the feeling that Charlie wanted out of this life, but couldn’t say ‘no’ to Mike, the short tempered, heavily tattooed, and twice imprisoned con that was leading the crew. Thankfully, no one had gotten hurt so far, so he hoped they could make some kind of deal with Charlie. He was too young to have his life ruined by stupid choices.

“Is something wrong?” He paused and kept his stance open and friendly. “The job is a lock. Everything’s going to be fine,” Neal said, trying to reassure him, but he didn’t like the look on Charlie’s face as he talked. If possible, Charlie looked even more worried and stepped back.

“Maybe he doesn’t like the fact that Neal Caffrey, resident snitch, is here.”

Neal stiffened as the voice of Mike came up behind him. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised when his cover was blown during a sting, he’d been helping the FBI for too long to go unnoticed. Mike had a long history with the criminal element in New York, and people talked. He’d been bound to hear something.

But before he could even begin to worry about that, he felt the crack of something hard hitting his head and he crumpled in a heap to the floor.

_Shit, I really didn’t want Peter to have to make that call._

*~*~*~*

“Neal?”

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Neal swatted at the offending hand, pushing it away and opened his eyes slowly. Peter’s face loomed over him and he shut his eyes seconds later.

“Whaaa…” Neal barely got out, and worked to sit himself up. He felt Peter’s hands helping him up, and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes again.

Neal glanced around, noting FBI agents working the scene, and Diana, standing next to two men in handcuffs, looking a second away from smacking one of them, with a glare to match. He might have called her out on her penchant for unprovoked violence, but couldn’t help but cheer her on, knowing that they were probably why he was on the floor at the moment.

His head was pounding though, and everything was kinda shaky. He tried to stay still, and closed his eyes once more in hopes of keeping the rising nausea down.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered automatically and he could feel the glare on him despite his closed eyes.

“How about we let a doctor make that call, okay?”

“Sure, whatever…” he mumbled, knowing he wouldn’t get out of it. Blindly, he raised a hand and gingerly probed the back of his head. There was a sizable bump where the pain was radiating from, and something slick in his hair. Blood, his brain managed to fill in.

“Don’t touch that!” Peter exclaimed, grabbing his hand. He gently pulled it away and Neal dropped it in his lap.

He cracked his eyes open and found Peter frowning, glancing around the room. Neal sighed. “They can handle everything, Peter. Just take me to the hospital and let’s get this over with. I need to get home, I still have packing to do.”

Peter’s frown deepened but he said nothing, and just nodded, much to Neal’s relief. “Alright. Can you stand?”

“Well, I think I have to. Or are you offering to carry me?”

“I can call an ambulance if you prefer.”

Neal glared. “I think I can walk myself, thank you.”

Peter stood up and held out a hand, which Neal took gratefully. He swayed, nearly falling into the other man’s chest, but Peter’s hands kept him upright.

“Careful, there. I don’t think you want to take a second tumble today.”

“Yes, because I really wanted the first one,” he replied tiredly and let himself be led to the door. They walked slowly past the other agents and out of the warehouse. “I was looking forward to eggnog and Christmas cookies, not hours sitting in a hospital waiting room.”

“Who said anything about eggnog?”

*~*~*~*

Apparently the magic words in an emergency room were ‘head injury’ if you weren’t escorted by an ambulance or bleeding out. Neal was pretty sure Peter flashing his badge didn’t hurt either. That was fine with him, since it was loud and bright, and he just wanted curl up in a ball and go to sleep. Preferably in his own bed.

The look on Peter’s face told him it was probably unlikely.

“Stop staring at me like I’m going to fall over and die,” Neal mumbled and closed his eyes. He sat still, waiting for the resident to finish stitching up the gash on his head. He tried not to think about the patch of hair he was now missing. Better than a piece of his brain, he supposed.

“Yes, because a concussion is nothing to worry about,” Peter snapped.

Neal opened his eyes a sliver, and saw Peter glaring at him. He sighed. “The doctor said it was only a mild one I’m fine. Or I will be after I get some sleep.”

“Stop asking if I’ve called June and I might be inclined to believe you.”

His eyes widened and he watched as Peter held up three fingers, nodding. “It would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that you’re bleeding from your head and someone has to watch you for the next twenty-four hours.”

“I have to go home and pack,” he tried to argue, but he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere, much less back to his place.

“Even if I didn’t know that you’re probably 99% packed already, I still wouldn’t let you go home. Besides, I think it’s best you push back your trip.”

Neal took a deep breath. “Peter, as much I appreciate your concern, this is my choice. _My_ life. In,” he turned his wrist over only to find the FBI watch gone and had to glance up at the clock on the wall. The numbers floated in his vision for a second, and he stopped himself from squinting—no use giving Peter something else to hold over him—and let the numbers come into focus. “Six hours I’m no longer your responsibility.”

Peter looked like Mt. Vesuvius about to explode, but he quickly calmed himself down. “Neal, I realize that, but I’m not talking as your handler—but as your friend. One day will not kill you. Nor will Sara. Trust me. She’s as worried as I am.”

Neal closed his eyes. “You called her.”

“Of course I did. And, all jokes aside, she just wants you to arrive in one piece. Just…” Peter’s arms fell to his sides and he looked at Neal pleading. “Just take it easy, that’s all I’m asking.”

Neal wanted to, he really did. But he had plans. For once he just wanted things to go the way they were supposed to. Not having a party was fine with him. But he’d been waiting to see Sara again for a long time. Nothing was going to stop him, not even a little headache.

He just needed to sleep it off, and a plane was as good a place as any.

The slight pressure on the back of his head stopped and the resident turned away from him. “Okay, we’re all done here.”

Neal looked up at Peter with a determined expression on his face, saying nothing. Peter sighed and nodded. “How about we at least ask the doctor?”

They both turned toward the resident, who looked up, wide eyed. “What?”

Peter waved a hand at Neal. “Is it safe for him to fly to London tomorrow?”

“Umm…” The young man glanced between them and blinked. “I, uh… I’ll go get Dr. Roberts.” He nearly tripped over his feet as he tried to escape the obvious tension in the room.

Neither of them said anything after that. Neal laid back on the narrow bed and closed his eyes, grateful for the quiet.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop worrying about you.” Peter broke the silence a few minutes later.

“I know,” he replied softly, his eyes still closed, and smiled to himself. “It’s ingrained in you. A Neal Caffrey detector of sorts. You can’t turn it off.”

Peter chuckled. “I wish I could sometimes. I don’t know how I’m going to handle not knowing where you are, what you’re doing.”

“It’ll just have to be one of life’s mysteries. But honestly, I think you need to let it go. You don’t have to chase after me anymore.”

“I better not—I’m getting too old for that.”

Neal didn’t bother calling him out on that. They both knew Peter just didn’t want to anymore. It had almost been a relief that Neal had been kidnapped and hadn’t run all those months ago—Peter hadn’t had to arrest him again.

The door opened, keeping them from acknowledging the elephant in the room. Dr. Roberts, who had examined him earlier, stepped in. “I hear you have some questions for me?”

Neal started to sit back up, but the doctor motioned him to stay where he was.

Peter stood up straighter, and rested his hands on his hips, morphing back into the FBI agent. Neal wondered if that would ever go away. It was like a second skin for Peter, just as much as any alias was for Neal.

“Neal is supposed to fly to London tomorrow. Is that safe? Should he wait another day?” He quickly peppered the doctor with his questions.

Dr. Roberts leaned against the counter. He appeared unruffled by Peter’s obvious power play. “What time is your flight, Mr. Caffrey?” he asked, turning to address him.

“Eight pm.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, that’s after the critical twenty-four observation period we advise. Plus, your scans were clear. With a mild concussion like this, all I can suggest is rest. No typing or computer work—let your brain have a rest too. I don’t see a problem with flying, especially since you’ll just be sleeping.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Neal watched as Peter’s face fell. He didn’t know if it was just concern for his well-being or an unwillingness to let Neal go. He had a feeling it was the latter.

“Thank you, Doctor. We’ll keep an eye on him until he leaves,” Peter replied, his face stoic once more.

“Good. If your symptoms worsen, Mr. Caffrey, please come back. Head injuries, even ones as mild as yours, are still quite dangerous.” He gave Neal a stern look, and Neal nodded. “I’ll have a nurse come by with your discharge papers shortly. I hope not to see you again, and I wish you a pleasant trip.”

After he left, Neal wanted to lay back again, but he glanced at Peter, who looked a million miles away. “You have to let me go, Peter. The days of Caffrey and Burke may be over, but that doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again.”

Peter smiled softly. “Burke and Caffrey.” He paused. “But yes, I know. It’s just going to be difficult.”

“You still up for houseguests?” 

“Always.”

*~*~*~*

_“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain.”_

Neal’s head jerked and he opened his eyes.

_“We are experiencing some bad turbulence and I’ve asked the flight attendants to sit down. I do ask that you stay seated as we wait this out, and hopefully we can get past this rough patch soon.”_

He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the darkened airplane cabin. Sighing, he gritted his teeth as the plane shook violently. He’d been _so_ close to sleep.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he looked around. The lights had been dimmed, leaving the cabin eerily dark and silent. Everyone was asleep but him. He shifted in his seat, and tried to stretch his legs in the cramped coach seat. It felt like a lifetime since he’d fled New York with Mozzie, flying first class and drinking champagne. 

It wasn’t what most people expected of him, but Neal was past caring. 

The person waiting at the other end was one of a handful of people whose opinion he cared about. Sara was one of the few good surprises of his life. She had once looked at him with veiled disgust and called him a sociopath, but had become someone he could trust his heart to. He’d thought he’d lost her months ago, though. 

Then the first postcard arrived.

It came just after Peter had finally secured his deal once more and Neal had been cleared by the doctor to return to the office. Between Peter fighting to secure his freedom and Mozzie threatening to enlist Sally to hack the DOJ to find leverage, Neal was pleased to hear from someone who wasn’t pulling him in opposite directions.

It was only a postcard, but it had made him smile. He’d known that she’d chosen it on purpose. An email or a phone call required him to respond. A postcard was harmless.

He’d called her back.

Neal wasn’t blind, though. This wasn’t an invitation to start something again. It also wasn’t her taking pity on him. They didn’t talk about Rebecca or his kidnapping. Their conversations probably still weren’t normal, but the two of them would never be normal people. Instead, he enjoyed the late night calls, feeling as if he had no care in the world while they talked.

Then one night, when it finally looked like his sentence was coming to an end, she asked him the first place he wanted to go.

He’d frozen, surprised by her question, but more from the reaction it stirred up in him. _London_ , he’d finally told her. She had laughed awkwardly, as surprised as he was, and obviously didn’t know how to respond. 

_“I don’t need to see Paris or Tokyo or even Sᾶo Paolo. Maybe later, but right now I want this. I just…” he paused as he tried to express what he was feeling. “You know when you go on vacation and you’re so exhausted that you need a vacation from your vacation? That’s what I need right now.”_

It was the truth. He needed a break from his life. He needed to regroup and figure out who Neal Caffrey was without Peter or Mozzie breathing down his neck.

So they made plans.

They weren’t grand or exciting, nothing anyone would figure Neal Caffrey would do now that he was finally free. But he looked forward to them for the simple reason that he could do whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if they went to the greatest museums or just spent an afternoon in Hyde Park. There was no pressure on him.

Of course, he _did_ have certain plans for his first day there. And they did not include being slightly concussed. Jet lag was a given, but the headache and nausea were not.

Neal quickly reached for the small paper bag in his lap and clenched it in his hands and breathed in slowly as the plane shook yet again. He’d hoped to sleep, and maybe feel slightly more human when he woke up. Right now he’d give anything to just make it through the flight without seeing his dinner again.

Peter had, not surprisingly, taken him home for the night to keep an eye on him, even though he had begged off. The planned celebration would to have to wait, though. Neal was okay with that. All he’d wanted was to thank Peter and El for all they had done for him over the years, and leave without making a fuss.

Neal knew it was a big deal. Despite how hard he’d worked to ensure his release, he just wanted to slip away. He didn’t want to be Neal Caffrey, the ex-con with a target on his back or a flashing light on his ankle anymore. He’d give up all the cons, all the glitz and glamour (and the not so glamorous moments), if it meant he could live a life— _his life_ —without worrying about being shot at or stabbed. Or hurting anyone else.

He wanted to choose where his story ended. Or began. He’d had enough of other people pulling the strings. If a quiet life with Sara, with no lies and no cons was what he wanted, then he was taking it. Byron had figured out that there was no such thing as one final score. 

It didn’t matter what Mozzie or anyone else thought. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking he could leave this life, but Neal always accomplished what he’d set out to do.

As soon as he got off this plane, that is. His stomach rolled as they hit another rough patch. He glanced around the dark cabin. He didn’t know how everyone was sleeping through the turbulence.

He wished he’d brought sleeping pills. But he’d never had a problem falling asleep—even before he’d gone to prison, although prison had undoubtedly helped him learn to sleep through anything. He remembered Sara once commenting that he’d probably sleep through the end of the world after a rather raucous bird singing on the balcony had failed to rouse him one morning. His suggestion of ear plugs didn’t go over well, unfortunately.

What he’d give for the earplugs and eye mask that they provided in first class...

Right then the man next to him let out a snore, and Neal sighed, resigning himself to a sleepless night.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go. Ever since that phone call, he’d been looking forward to this day. He hadn’t lied to Peter—Neal had no idea if it would work out with Sara—but he missed her. He felt that there was a possibility that he’d found someone who could stand by him, despite her misgivings, and keep him on his toes.

She understood him and forgave him, and loved him all the same.

He liked to think that they would have exchanged more postcards if Rebecca hadn’t conned her way in. But she had drawn him in, knowing just how to catch his attention and his heart. A heart that had barely come to grips with Sara’s departure, and his own revelations that stemmed from her absence. A time when Rebecca’s innocence was a bright spot in his day.

It was said that you could lose yourself if you went undercover too long. Neal’s switched between aliases too many times for that, but Nick Halden came close. After sliding a ring on Sara’s finger and standing on top of the Empire State Building, imagining the life that he’d once dreamt of—the house, the kids—he’d almost believed it was possible. Earlier he’d pictured this dream with Kate, but now, with Sara, it both hurt and felt right.

He’d always wanted what Peter and Elizabeth had. This was his chance. He was putting everything behind him, all the pain and heartbreak. He was starting fresh.

A kick to the back of his seat made him jerk forward, his knees crashing into the seat in front of him and he grimaced.

Unfortunately his fresh start didn’t mean he’d be fresh-faced too, he thought wryly and closed his eyes.

*~*~*~*

He woke up to the smell of eggs and his stomach lurched. The paper bag in his lap was crumpled, but thankfully empty, and he tried to breathe in and out slowly so he wouldn’t have to use it. He closed his eyes and imagined sitting in a little French patisserie, with the best café crème and pain aux raisins he’d ever had, in an attempt to block out everything.

A few minutes later he opened his eyes, his stomach a little calmer despite the smell wafting through the air. The cabin was still dim, and everyone was in different stages of waking up and getting ready for their arrival. He had apparently slept through the breakfast cart coming through, but that was fine with him. All he wanted was to stretch his legs, walk off the plane and hold Sara in his arms.

It was an hour and a half before he finally saw her. The landing was smooth, and he congratulated himself for making it through the flight and keeping his food down. The line at Customs was long though, and he’d barely been able to stay upright as he waited his turn. He was just thankful when he walked through without any problems. Everyone scattered like ants when they reached the Baggage Claim, some heading straight to the carousel to wait for their luggage and others to their waiting families. Being lumped into the latter category felt weird. He’d never had anyone waiting for him.

Neal scanned the crowd and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he spotted her. She was everything he remembered—strong, confident, and beautiful. She was sure of herself in a way that was unlike anyone else he’d ever met, and a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Sara was no damsel in distress or mark to be played. She held her own and never backed down from a challenge.

He loved that about her.

She stood there now, in the middle of Baggage Claim, holding onto her phone with a firm grip, focus undeterred as the world went on around her. He watched as she frowned and tapped on her phone a few times, then slid it into her purse and glanced up, as if she finally remembered where she was. He chuckled at the disgusted look on her face when she noticed an overly amorous couple that had just reunited a few feet away from her. _‘Get a room’_ , he could practically hear her saying in her head.

Then her gaze moved past them, and it took only a few seconds for her to find him. He took another moment to enjoy the sight of her standing there, let his eyes wander over her, even though he knew that she wasn’t going to disappear on him.

Suddenly it all came rushing back to him. How fast his heart had started beating, and how he’d been unable to start the speech he had planned. Then the truth broke free as he stared up at her, asking the world of her.

If she’d stayed, he wasn’t sure that they could have made it work. Everything that Rebecca— _Rachel_ —had planned could have ruined whatever they might have had. But none of that mattered now. Sara left and now he’d been given another chance.

He stared at her for another beat and Sara smiled at him back at him. He found his feet walking of their own accord, and all he could think of, all he could _feel_ , was her, in his arms on that fateful day. For just a little while, it had been real. Now he had to bring the clouds down with him.

In moments, he was standing in front of her. “Sara,” he breathed in a whispered voice. Without another word they moved into in each other’s arms, and he brushed his lips against hers softly. There was no urgency, but they held on to each other tightly. He wanted to run his hands all over her, to reacquaint himself with the soft curl of her hair and the gentle curves of her body. That would have to come later. 

He would have kissed her again—would have kissed her a thousand times if it weren’t for the fact that they were in public and he knew she didn’t like making a scene. Instead he rested his head against hers, and inhaled the soft sweet scent of her hair with a deep breath.

He’d missed her. More than he’d realized.

Sara pulled away a little, but he didn’t let go, keeping his arms wrapped around her waist as their eyes met once more.

“You look like crap, Caffrey,” she said finally, raising a hand to his cheek.

Neal chuckled lightly. He _felt_ like crap and he wouldn’t deny it, there was no need. Not with her, at least. Not anymore.

She raised an eyebrow. “What? No argument?” He shrugged and she shook her head, sighing. “You obviously need sleep. Let’s get you home before you fall over.”

He closed his eyes. _Home_. That sounded perfect.

*~*~*~*

Neal’s head was too clouded and _tired_ to do much more than stop in the front entry of her place when they arrived, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. He felt bad that he barely spoke ten words on the ride back, but Sara didn’t seem to mind. She gave him the five second tour when they walked in, and then practically pushed him to her bedroom. Any other time he would have joked that he liked it when she took charge. But he had no energy and he really couldn’t argue that he just wanted to fall into bed.

The sheets smelled of her perfume, and the scent was so familiar that, for a second, he thought he was back in New York, that nothing had changed—that the past year had not happened at all. But the room was dark, the blinds closed tight against the daylight, and his eyes rested on the framed print of Saint George and the Dragon. It was a startling reminder that this wasn’t New York, and that this wasn’t just another carefree morning. Too much had happened since then.

Moments later, Sara kicked off her heels and laid down on top of the pillowy comforter next to him. Her hand reached over and he felt her fingers thread themselves through his hair, gently caressing him.

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He really didn’t want to fall asleep on her. But he was seconds away at this rate. This was not at all like he had planned.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Her hand stilled. “If you’re referring to the fact that you’re human, and you’re not feeling well because of something that was out of your control, then stop. You made it here. That’s an accomplishment in itself. I’m…” She paused. “I’m proud of you.” She scooted closer to him, and tapped his ankle with her foot. “Be honest. Did you think you’d see this day?”

“That I’d be a free man or here in your bed?” he asked, opening his eyes and winking at her.

She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t expect a lot of things,” he replied softly, reaching over and brushing a lock of hair away from her face. 

It was true that he hadn’t planned on sticking around to see the end of his sentence, but more importantly, he hadn’t expected to like his job, or the agents he worked with. He hadn’t expected to become so close to Peter and Elizabeth. And he certainly hadn’t foreseen falling for the insurance investigator who had testified against him.

None of that needed to be said. Not anymore.

“I’m happy it turned out this way, though,” he added, trailing a hand down her arm slowly. “The concussion on the other hand…” He grimaced. “That was not in the plans.”

“Plans change all the time,” she said with a shrug. “We deal.”

He frowned. “Yes, but I have tickets for tonight’s Christmas concert at Royal Albert Hall with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.” It had been his surprise. He knew she would have loved it, but right now he didn’t think he’d be up for it.

With a wry grimace, he closed his eyes once more. Sara was right. Making it this far was the important thing. He was used to plans changing all the time, having to improvise and work things out on the fly. He was still disappointed, though. That couldn’t be helped.

“How about I give you a private concert instead?”

His eyes shot open and he looked up at her surprised. She gave him a shy smile, and immediately he realized this was a big step for her. “I’ve never heard you play.”

“I…” She hesitated and cast her eyes down towards her lap. “I haven’t played for anyone in years.”

It was obvious that she was remembering her family. She’d once told him about how her sister had played the violin to her cello, and that they’d played for their parents often. That, of course, had stopped after her sister run away. Only the memory and connection she felt towards Emily had kept Sara playing over the years. He was touched that she was going to share that with him.

He squeezed her hand lightly. She glanced back at him, giving him a small smile, and squeezed back. He smiled reassuringly at her, then waited a beat before replying, “Do I get a backstage pass afterwards?”

She threw her head back and laughed, and he grinned. 

“I think we can manage that.”

“Come here.” He pulled her arm gently, and she slid down the comforter coming to rest facing him. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her softly. “Thank you. For… everything.” He paused and took a deep breath. “For being there for me when I needed you, and for giving me another chance. I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me...” he trailed off, knowing she was taking a big risk with him. Not many people would.

“Hey.” She touched his cheek. “It’s what you do _now_ that counts. The rest… is history.”

They stared into each other’s eyes in the lingering silence, and Neal knew that this was where he was meant to be. _This_ was worth it all. Someone to come home to.

 

 _And I'd give it all away_  
 _Just to have somewhere to go to_  
 _Give it all away_  
 _To have someone to come home to  
_ ~My December


End file.
